Dedication to my sister

My Sister, Robin Marie...Woman of history. Woman of poetry. Woman of strengths I can only dream about, weaknesses that make her more real, and the mind of a timeless genius. Her spirit is capable of raging like a beautiful tempest, and sighing like a dancing red leaf. I am so proud of her, it hurts. She is my hero.


My Sister and I share a special bond that no one will understand, including ourselves. Yes we fight, but there is just something there in the two of us that is rare in other siblings. It goes way way way beyond obligation. A metaphysical sisterhood that extends beyond our DNA. We love/honor/admire eachother in a fashion that is pure and poweful. We are so different, yet so the same. She is a work of art.

Sometimes I think I really should start my own business

FUCK the outdoor clothing industry. I've just jumped on the synthetic band wagon after running a race in a synthetic shirt, and already I am PISSED off with this corporate niche. I was mad before I starting wearing synthetic materials. I don't want my hiking boots in pink, you marketing schmuck. If a man can wear red boots, so can I. And you know what? I want to. I like red. I don't like pink. Seriously, who wants a ski jacket in light purple? Not me! I want it in forest green. But guess what? I have to buy the man's jacket to get it in forest green. At Big 5 today (I only went there because they had a sale and I had a coupon. I would not suggest it otherwise unless you want to buy crap) I had the wonderful choices of magenta, lavender, pink, and light blue. AHHH! What the hell? Why do all women's outdoor gear come in fucking pastels! Outdoorsy women generally AREN'T girly, so why the hell do they come in girly colors? If it weren't for the FUNCTIONAL benefit I would just give up and buy men's gear. But unfortunately, a pink backpack desgined for a woman is by far superior than a navy blue one designed for a man. At least on a woman's body it is. If I want attractive and functional, I have to spend an arm and a leg buying Prana or some other over priced brand. Yes, they are better quality and come in earth tones, but I just can't afford it right now. So I get stuck with pink gear. I should start my own business that markets to woman FUNCTIONALLY and FASHIONABLY. Now, I know a lot of you are probably saying, what the hell, this chick wants to look good outdoors? What kind of yuppie BS is that? Well, I don't use trekking poles and I don't like pink. Does that sound like a yuppie to you? You draw the line. I just like the colors I wear to reflect the person I am. I don't think that is too much to ask. And I am NOT pink. And seriously, if I am going to spend 70 dollars on a fucking biking jersey, it sure as hell is not going to look like that flowered pink-purple someone vomited up a 6 year old's bed room see above. I guess since I don't have any boobs, I could buy a men's bike jersey. Oh, another thing since I am on the topic of boobs, not all small chested women are a size 4, marketing schmucks must be men. Damn it, I am still pissed. I'm going to the gym. Maybe I'll have a business plan after run. Errrr.

Changing it up

There are days when I awake and monotony fills my bones. My skin crawls because my day is laid out before me at sunrise the same as it was the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. I crawl out of bed with Bonnie Rait lyrics on my mind, "What the hell kind of person, goes to work in the morning, comes home in the evening, with nothing to say." I loathe this type of living. When I wake on mornings draped in this sensation, I have to trudge through a huge pile of work to feel productive, first. From Memoirs of a Geisha, "There is nothing like work to get over disappointment." But only REAL work, blood, sweat, and tears, will help one escape the slump of status quo. For me this could mean, slamming out my thesis, finishing one of my gazillion to do lists, or running farther than I ever have before--ideally, all of the above. That is the perfect way for me to make a sour day turn golden. Somehow, I have to sweat the monotony out. THEN, I have to do something crazy. Something out of the ordinary. Something random, enlightening, and inspiring. Whether that is doing a new watercolor painting, writing a new poem, going on a night hike, playing near the monument with my sister, watching a Shakespeare movie, staying up all night and reading Robert Frost poems in my bath tub with a glass of red wine, watching C-span while working on a charcoal sketch, cooking a new recipe with a friend, reading a history book, watching one of my favorite movies, throwing a last minute dance party with my sister in her room, making a new mix CD, compiling inspiring quotes, having an impromptu bonfire, going to library and learning something new because I can and I want to and not because any body is making me, planning a backpacking trip on my topo software, calling a friend and telling them a new pirate joke, or even listening to an entire Smashing Pumpkins CD while I revamp my resume, its the little things in a day that spice up a Monday-Friday 9 to 5 existence that are important to me. Laughter, spiritual growth, and sharing magical moments with friends matters as much as success. Every man or woman has a different way they survive the existence that is American drudgery. How do you do it? What gets you through the week when life starts to repeat itself, and you wonder if you are guest starring in Groundhog Day? Life doesn’t always have to wait for the weekend. Carpe Diem.

Where is Sill Hills Waterfall?

Mud, fog, and laughter filled my Saturday in Cuyamaca Rancho State Park. We were three strong and the forest was eerie. The hike was in an area that burnt down three years ago, so all the oaks and alders were dead, black, and leafless. On top of that, the entire hillside was covered in fog. A very Tim Burton experience. The trail was a couple inches deep in mud as well. At one point someone said in jest, "Nice hike, Averbeck." We were trying to find a certain waterfall, but we never did because I didn't bring a proper map and we couldn’t be certain we weren’t trespassing onto private land. In fact, I am certain we were. However, I am convinced looking for the waterfall was more fun than finding it would have been. We found a burnt out cabin and it was full of fascinating photo opportunities, so we stopped there for a while and tried or best to be artistic. My friend Dre is a photographer, and she was very pleased at the find. She likes rusty old objects apparently. There were old cast iron appliances circa early 1900s that had burnt and rusted, but they were visually and historically fascinating. It was great to see the new trees budding up. It was a good lesson in forest succession for me. It was hard to believe the fire was three years ago. In places it still smelled like a freshly put out campfire. I always imagined succession to move more quickly. At the end of the hike the fog finally cleared and we could look back and see the hill side we'd tramped up and down trying to find that waterfall. We would have kept looking, but we didn't bring a flashlight or a map, so we had to call it quits for safety sake. We found a beautiful cascade none the less, and it suited or lust for running water visual stimulation. I want to go back there when it's not so foggy, and I can give myself more time to try and find the waterfall. It was really great to share that day in the mud and the fog with good friends. I hope to always live a life where such adventures, even small trivial ones such as looking for a waterfall in the mud and the fog, are something I can share with people I care about.

Some movies, man...some movies....

My list of favorite movies is vast and random. From Medicine Man, to Dead Poets Society, to Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, to Motorcycle Diaries, to Little Big Man, and so forth. I can't pin point what it is I love about a movie, I just do. I have just returned from seeing Broke Back Mountain, and I am proud to say, I am adding it to the list.

First of all, the scenery in this movie. By God, the scenery! It makes me want to go to Wyoming even more than I used to. Even if you hate the movie, you will be left breathless by the amazing setting. I've never seen such beautiful wooded crags.

And then, of course, there is Heath Ledger. Not only is he an amazing actor, but he is a beautiful beautiful specimen of a man. And I can not resist him in his cowboy getup. Even though he is gay in the movie, I left the movie in love with him.

The pace of the movie, the script, the art direction, all compliment each other perfectly. It's so real, so true feeling, you are left on the verge of tears after nearly every scene. Even when they are just sharing whiskey by a campfire, you are left in awe.

The love in this movie is beautiful, and heartbreaking. Ying and Yang. The Good, the bad, and unfortunately, the ugly. I hope that this movie reaches out to people. I hope it makes a difference. It has the potential. Always support anti-hate crime legislation. And go see Brokeback Mountain.

Pure Emotion.

Women are more emotional than men. It's not an insult or an absolute truth, but it is a general observation. Often the emotionality of women is in excess. Example: Valetine's Day. This is a lame holiday that was created by capitalists to feed of off women's insecurities and emotions, and they fall for it every year. Don't celebrate it. I'll wait until February to really get into that, however. Holding on to negative emotions is a problem for many females as well, including myself. Feeling sad is often appropriate and healthy, but some women make a living out of it.

Although there is a negative side to the excess of emotions in women, and it can lead us to being accused of behaving as irrational beings, there is also a very beautiful side. For instance, as a female, it is accepted by society if a desert sunset brings me to tears. If a man were to do this, society in general would mock him for being feminine. I am very thankful that I was born a woman, because I can express my emotions without fear of scorn when something beautiful moves me to tears. I think the moments where I am laughing uncontrollably, smiling uncontrollably, or crying tears of joy uncontrollably, are the meaning of life. Being moved by the little things is what makes it all worth it. Feeling the emotion swell in my core as I stand at the top of a mountain, the base of a giant sequoia, or the edge of a desert cliff, is my emotional addiction. Nature moves me.

Humanity, also moves me. Some people can not be moved by humanity because they have lost all faith, but I am either ignorant, naive, or idealistic enough, to be moved by the collective or individual good deeds of humanity. According to society, its ok for men to cry at their child's birth or their wedding, but too much emotion in other situations makes them sissy.

It's not even about tears though, its about feeling--- feeling something so deep it causes joy to creep out of your orifices, literally or metaphorically. In the film, American Beauty, the male character is deeply moved by the dance of a plastic grocery sack dancing in an alley breeze. These are the moments I want to hear about. I know I don't have a huge following for this blog (yet), but if you are a male reading this, I would love to hear about a moment where something moved you deeply to the point of feeling an emotion that society would generally shun because it is not perceived as manly or macho. Moved men, besides being incredibly sexy, move me. Because pure emotion, (ie emotion not driven by commercialism) is just as beautiful as the moment that inspired it.

I have a friend that once blogged about a shimmering red leaf. He found the leaf to be beautiful, and held on to it because of the way the leaf made him feel. And when the leaf fell about in his pant's pocket, he was sad. This is the type of moment I live for. Inspiration from a shimmering red leaf. What could be more beautiful?


So tell me your stories, ladies and gentlemen. Let it all out. Whether it was inspired by a single individual (e.g. you're sleeping girlfriend in the moon light), a group of individuals (e.g. a room full of friends and family singing you happy birthday while they wait for you to blow out the candles), or a moment in art, history, or discovery (standing before an original Picasso, watching the fall of the Berlin wall, or watching man walk on the moon), I want to know. What single moments in life made you feel alive? What has driven YOU to the ecstasy of PURE emotion?

What is culture?

What is culture? Is it as concrete as the rituals of your ethnic ancestors? Is it as elusive as the concept of the soul? Is it merely a fancy word for hobbies, habits, and personal tastes? I am fascinated by the concept of culture, because frequently, it eludes young white Americans. If you ask the average born- in - the - USA white teenager, "What is your culture?” they'll shrug their shoulders and say, "I dunno, American?" To understand myself, my culture, and the consequences of these, I am going to dive deep into the concepts of the definition of culture, the identification of White American culture(s), and the characteristics of my own culture as I see it.
First, we need to define culture for the context of this discussion. A primary distinction is that culture is learned. Culture is not a genetic trait. You learn to like hamburgers and milkshakes as an American. You aren’t born liking hamburgers and milkshakes as an American. But beyond being something that society teaches us, what is culture? Another key concept required for understanding culture, is that it is shared by a group of people. To identify with a culture, others must identify with the culture as well, otherwise you are just identifying with yourself, and this is not culture but self identity.

I believe culture is created and composed by the things that influence you on an individual character defining level. This is a huge category, obviously. This means your upbringing, your economic status, your religion, your politics, your environment, your hobbies, your music taste, and your daily choices are all part of your culture. Although my definition of culture is broad, and perhaps overwhelming, I find to narrow the definition is to underestimate the power of culture on the individual, and thus the power of the individual on society.

The concept of "American" as one's culture, can conjure scary thoughts to outsiders. It's as if one is ignorantly declaring, my culture is Starbucks. My culture is Wal-Mart. My culture is Enron. But my culture is none of these things, and I consider myself an American through and through.

I have often been told, what I declare as my culture, is not culture. But I disagree. What I identify with I have learned to identify with from the lessons of my surrounding environment and society. My culture is environmentalism, individualism, and intellectualism. These are the things I admire and identify with most as an American. Is this my culture? I think so. But some say no; I have no culture, because I am American.

This stark ‘lack’ of culture that characterizes white America today is why postmodern movements such as ‘Emo kids’ are gaining in popularity. It gives them a culture to identify with. And like it or not, I think culture is necessary for the survival of the human spirit. But a stark lack of culture has not always described America. Think of the culture of the 60s, the jazz movement, or the astounding number of regional cultures that exist today still such as Appalachia. America is not culture-less; we are just in a dull moment where not much inspires similar groups of people in order to found a culture. This is why I cry out to America’s youth-be passionate about something, drink it in, and share it with your peers. You will be nurturing culture, and that, is to nurture the human spirit.